


pour some sugar on me

by alaseux



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, I KNOW THE TITLE IS CLICHÉ JUST LET ME HAVE THIS, M/M, andrew likes sugar neil hates andrew....... it's love, i love u kt happy holidays :'), i was gonna write a flower/tattoo au but im not edgy enough, so here's some coffee and flowers instead!!!, so there's that, uhhhh andrew's an edgy bitch and neil is british?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 21:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaseux/pseuds/alaseux
Summary: “Here’s your drink,” Neil says, shoving it into Andrew’s hand. “Kindly sod off.”“Then who would be around to annoy you?” Andrew quips, taking a long sip of the mocha before leaving to do whatever florists do in their spare time.(in which Neil is a barista, Andrew works next door at a flower shop, and everyone needs to calm down a little bit)





	pour some sugar on me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hiraethia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiraethia/gifts).



> HELLO this is for the love of my gotdam life kt !!!! she's the sweetest person on the planet and i wanted to give her something for the holidays so here's this mediocre fic i guess. u deserve better kt im so sorry babey i luv u so much

Neil Hatford has been living in Columbia, South Carolina for approximately twelve days, seventeen hours, and three minutes when he realizes he wants to get a job. He’s laying on the floor of the living room in his apartment, staring at the ceiling, bored out of his fucking  _ mind;  _ as the sweat from his morning run settles sticky on his skin, he decides to call his uncle.

“Hey, kiddo,” Stuart says, picking up after a few rings. “How’s Columbia?”

“Good,” Neil says, watching the fan swirl in lazy circles above his head. “Hot. Summer here is the worst. How’s England?”

“Fine, fine,” replies Stuart. “Busy as hell, you know. Did you need something?”

“Huh?” Neil blinks a few times in an effort to clear the heat-induced haze from his head. “Oh, yeah. I want to get a job, I think. Since classes won’t start until August.”

Stuart hums his agreement. “When and where and what, kiddo?”

“Something… sort of easy, but not too mind-numbing. Like a coffee shop, maybe? And as soon as possible, if you don’t mind.”

“Consider it done,” Stuart says, and after discussing Columbia a bit more, they hang up. Stuart was never really attached to the idea of sentimentalities, for which Neil was grateful. 

Two hours later, Neil’s sitting at the breakfast bar, eating a bowl of cereal, when he receives a text with an address and a time from his uncle. He googles the address (partially because he bought a smartphone last week and apparently looking up addresses is a thing he can do on it, and partially because he’s been fucking around all morning and he has nothing better to do) to find that he’ll be interviewing tomorrow morning at the Foxhole, a small coffee shop downtown. Neil sets an alarm on his phone (because he can do that now, too!) for an hour before the interview, just in case it slips his mind, and throws his empty bowl into the sink.

The next day, Neil goes on his usual early morning run, takes a quick shower, and dresses in the semi-formal attire his uncle recommended to wear to the interview, then sits down to eat a quick breakfast of yogurt and fruit before walking three blocks south to the Foxhole. It’s a tiny, friendly-looking place, painted a bright orange, tucked between a small flower shop and a nondescript bakery, and Neil loves it almost immediately.

He’s escorted to an office in the back of the coffee shop by a tall, friendly kid named Matt, where he proceeds to meet a man named David Wymack, who tells Neil to call him Coach because “all the fuckers working here do.” (He sounds affectionate, though, when he speaks of them.) Wymack barely even interviews him, thankfully, and proceeds to hire him about five minutes after Neil introduces himself.

“Okay, kid,” Wymack starts, tossing him a grey and orange apron, and the nickname reminds Neil so much of his uncle that he feels something twinge a bit painfully in his chest. “Can you start today? I prefer to keep things sort of in the family, if you know what I mean, so we’re a bit short-staffed. You’re our fifth employee.”

“Sure,” says Neil. He thinks he might like to be a part of this family. “I’d love to.”

And so that was that.

\----

The next week is a blur of espresso and overzealous baristas. Neil manages to act normal enough to make the other employees take a vague liking to him (he thinks), and finds himself discussing football with Matt and Dan (who make fun of him, calling it soccer, which is  _ clearly  _ wrong), England with Allison (who proclaims that his accent is the hottest thing she’s ever heard), and… nothing with Renee, yet, because she’s scary as fuck, despite her soft voice and pastel hair and gentle smile. Her hands are covered in knife scars, and Neil doesn’t like how that marred skin clashes with her benevolent demeanor. He’s polite to her, of course, but he isn’t going to actively seek out her company yet. He needs to figure out her deal first.

Eight days, two hours, and thirty-two minutes after he starts working at the Foxhole, a short blond boy walks in and orders the grossest drink Neil has ever heard of.

“I’m sorry, what?” Neil asks, dumbfounded. 

“You heard me,” says the offender, examining his ragged nails, looking bored. “White chocolate mocha, three extra shots of caramel, two extra shots of dulce de leche. Chop chop, barista boy. I do not have all day.”

Neil blinks a couple times, trying to process the sheer disgust he’s feeling towards this kid, but he rings it up anyway and goes to make the drink. After Neil hands him his sugar monstrocity, the guy tosses some change into the tip jar, gives him a sarcastic two-fingered salute, and leaves.

Matt comes out from the workroom in the back, where he was either organizing stuff or playing Solitaire on Wymack’s ancient computer, and cocks his head at an obviously-annoyed Neil. “Hey, bud, you good?”

“That was appalling,” Neil says. “I am appalled.”

Matt’s brows furrow above his eyes. “Are you having a stroke?”

“No,” says Neil. “This idiot came in and ordered the worst drink ever. It had so much sugar that I literally think I got diabetes just  _ making  _ it.”

“Andrew!” exclaims Matt.

“No, Matt, I’m Neil, remember?” Neil says slowly. “Are  _ you  _ having a stroke?”

Matt rolls his eyes. “Smartass, Andrew’s the kid with the weird drink. The white chocolate mocha, right? He works next door at the flower shop. I used to think he was hooking up with Renee, until I walked in on Renee and Allison making out against the counter after hours.”

Neil blinks. “Allison and Renee? What?”

“Aw, Neil, I love you,” says Matt, rubbing Neil’s hair affectionately. “You’re so clueless. You’re like a little Martian. Did they not teach you about love in England?”

“Shut up. Anyway,” Neil says, “what the fuck? How is he not dead by now?”

“When you figure that out, let me know, dude,” Matt jokes, and disappears into the back again.

Neil glares at the tip jar. “You better have tipped me well, motherfucker,” he mumbles to the empty coffee shop. 

\----

The kid—Andrew—comes in again the next day, sucking on a cherry-red lollipop. As he makes Andrew’s drink, Neil attempts small talk.

“So you work next door?” he asks.

Andrew just stares at him. He has a serious case of what Allison calls resting bitch face.

“Okay, then, asshole,” Neil mutters under his breath, pumping in the dulce de leche shots. “Fuck me for trying to be polite, I guess.”

“Your customer service is lacking,” Andrew observes. “You insult my drink choices and then you start swearing. Daddy Wymack wouldn’t be happy about that—I thought English people were supposed to be polite?”

“It isn’t  _ my _ fault you insist on ordering liquid diabetes,” Neil snaps. “You might enjoy indulging in the sugar intake of a hyper toddler now, but soon enough you’re going to be in your third heart attack of the year, wondering why the hell you didn’t listen to me. Enjoy that moment, prick. God knows I will.”

Andrew’s eyebrows raise a bit, and Neil inwardly congratulates himself for finally getting a reaction out of the stoic boy.

“Here’s your drink,” Neil says, shoving it into Andrew’s hand. “Kindly sod off.”

“Then who would be around to annoy you?” Andrew quips, taking a long sip of the mocha and throwing some change into the tip jar. As Andrew leaves, Neil mimics his two-fingered salute from yesterday, and gets another eyebrow raise in return.

_ So this is what it’s like to have a mortal enemy, _ Neil thinks, leaning against the counter,  _ that isn’t my father. _

Allison waltzes in a minute later, sees Neil’s frustrated expression, and does a double take. “Whoa, Neil, who rained on your parade?”

“Andrew fucking Minyard,” Neil fumes. “The bane of my existence.”

“Oh, that asshole,” Allison says, nodding knowingly. “Don’t worry; I want to punch him in the face, too. Did you know he pulled a knife on me once? Just because I asked him if he wanted marshmallows on his hot chocolate!”

“Well, did he?” Neil asks, curious despite his utter hatred for Andrew. 

“Of course he did,” says Allison. “He’s a certified sugar addict. Fun fact: I spit in his drink that day, because fuck him.”

“Yeah,” Neil agrees. “Fuck him.”

Allison grins and vanishes into the backroom, and Renee comes out a minute later, looking gentle and pious as always, golden cross necklace gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight as she pulls out two glasses from the shelf behind the counter. 

“Hello, Neil,” she says, smiling softly. “I’m making hot chocolate for Allison and myself. Would you like one?”

“No, but thanks for the offer,” Neil says, feeling the urge to get away from her as soon as possible. “My shift’s done anyway.”

“Next time,” promises Renee.

Neil nods absently, tugging off his apron and folding it up before collecting his tips for the day. The quiet acoustic music filtering through the shop doesn’t match the bright anger that’s flaring firecracker-red behind his eyes, so instead of letting it fester, Neil makes a brave attempt to coax the rage back to its usual slow, steady flame in his chest, letting his mind wander as he tucks his apron into a cubby in the backroom. 

Neil really shouldn’t be this mad that a rude boy ordered a stupid drink, but Andrew did, so Neil is. He’s angry about a lot of things, actually, now that he thinks about it— he’s angry that it’s hit one hundred degrees in Palmetto for the past few days, and he can barely breathe in the deep, heavy heat; he’s angry that Stuart suggested coming to South fucking Carolina for university and he actually  _ listened; _ he’s angry that he misses London so much he can feel it in his bones. 

Neil clocks out, collects his things, and steps outside, still lost in thought. He’s mad that he wasn’t the one to kill his father, that Stuart took that privilege from him when Neil was nine and so, so scared of the monster under his bed; he’s mad that his mother is dead and has been so for seven years now; he’s mad that Baltimore is five hundred miles away instead of the usual four thousand. All of a sudden he’s just  _ angry,  _ so he runs home to burn it all away before it turns him into a raging terror like his father.

Once he reaches his apartment, Neil takes a long, cold shower, makes himself a bowl of tomato soup, and eats it with some crackers while watching the news. After watering the lone, vaguely-alive plant that lives on his windowsill, he goes to bed early, and dreams of bloodstained cleavers and the bubbling sound of coffee being brewed.

\----

The next morning, Neil feels better: more grounded, more real. He doesn’t have to work today, but he goes to the Foxhole anyway, because what else does he have to do?

When Neil lets himself into the shop with a light jingle of the bell above the door, Andrew’s sitting in the corner, because of fucking course he is. He’s working on his laptop while he’s sipping a vaguely healthy-looking iced drink—is that  _ matcha? _

“What the fuck,” Neil says, deadpan. Andrew turns around and stares at him, no recognition in his eyes. 

“Can I help you?” asks Andrew.

“What are you  _ drinking? _ Is that matcha?” Neil feels a little blindsided and a lot annoyed.

“Yes,” Andrew replies, a rude note in his voice. “Obviously. Do I know you?”

“Yes, asshole,” snaps Neil. “I work here, remember? You’re the kid who comes in here and orders sugar squared from me every day.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “That’s my twin brother, Andrew. I’m Aaron.”

“Funny,” says Neil, in a tone that shows it clearly isn’t. The bell chimes again, signaling a new customer, and Neil ignores it. “Good excuse. Of  _ course _ you blame your attitude problem on a definitely-real twin that goes around threatening my coworkers with knives when they ask simple fucking questions. Hilarious.”

“Talking about me?” A voice says from behind him.

Neil whirls around and sees another Andrew standing there. Okay, so maybe the other Andrew—Aaron?—wasn't lying. 

“Andrew,” Aaron says wearily, taking a sip of his drink, “have you been threatening the baristas again?”

“That was  _ one time,  _ brother mine,” says Andrew. 

“If I was on the clock right now, I’d be kicking you out,” Neil promises. “You’re a bloody dick, and I hope you know that.”

“Oh, what a charmer,” Andrew drawls. “Your personality is utterly dazzling.”

“Wish I could say the same for you,” says Neil. “But I can’t, because you almost stabbed Allison over fucking marshmallows. Also, while we’re on the subject—don’t do that again.”

Andrew’s hazel eyes flash. “Or what?”

Neil smiles his father’s smile and starts toward the counter. “Gotta go,” he throws over his shoulder as he leaves, instead of answering Andrew. “Better luck next time.”

When Andrew’s lip curls in annoyance, Neil feels a deep satisfaction come to life behind his ribs.

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i WAS gonna finish this whole thing before posting it but i like............ can't focus on things for long so i'm gonna be jumping around updating my fics for a bit!! but don't worry the next chap of this will be up v soon :~)  
> leave me some kudos/comments if ur feelin it babes!!!! i luv y'all sm thank u for reading


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